XME01: A New Beginning
by N'kala
Summary: First in my AU series. How Scott cam to live in Bayville.


Title: A New Beginning  
  
Author: N'kala99  
  
Rating: G, AU big time  
  
Disclaimer: They ain't mine. I think we all know that.  
  
Summary: The first installment of my new series. How Scott came to live in New   
  
York.  
  
Author's Notes: This was an idea floating around in my brain. I took some serious   
  
liberties and decided it was going just be an AU series about X-Men: Evolution.   
  
There are some definite discrepancies in the facts below, but since I'm new to the   
  
whole X-Men concept, I just decided to make it up as I went.  
  
A New Beginning  
  
By: N'kala99  
  
Bayville, New York  
  
1994  
  
Charles Xavier sat at the large window in his bedroom, lost in   
  
thought. Outside, the sky was an ominous gray, threatening an   
  
explosive thunderstorm in the very near future. As several   
  
raindrops began to tap on his window, Charles sighed and closed   
  
his eyes. The face of a young man with dark hair lying in a coffin   
  
greeted him.  
  
Each year, on the same day, he withdrew from the world to   
  
grieve in private over the loss of his son. Ten years ago on this very   
  
day, his son had been ripped violently from his life in the same   
  
vicious battle that had taken away the use of his legs, confining him   
  
to the wheelchair he now sat in. Despite the promises from   
  
sympathizers, the pain of losing his only child had grown stronger   
  
with each passing year.  
  
The door to his bedroom creaked open. The doorway framed a   
  
tall, muscular figure in his late twenties. He wore a pair of jeans   
  
that had seen better days and a plain black T-shirt; his face was   
  
unshaven, but his brown eyes expertly scanned the room before   
  
fixing on the solitary figure by the window.  
  
"Hey, Chuck," he said. "Ororo wanted me to ask you if you   
  
were planning on going to the symposium tonight, or if you were   
  
just gonna sulk all night long."  
  
Charles scowled out at the steadily increasing rainfall. "I   
  
somehow don't believe that those were the exact words she used."  
  
The man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.   
  
"Yeah, well, I never could put anything past you, now could I?"  
  
Charles still didn't look away from the window. "I want to be   
  
alone tonight, Logan. You know why."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Logan admitted, sitting in an armchair next to   
  
Charles. "That's why I'm here, actually. It's been ten years, Chuck.   
  
It's time to move on."  
  
Charles finally turned, leveling a strong glare on his friend.   
  
"I've moved on as much as I will move on, Logan. I can't forget   
  
about him. I won't."  
  
"No one's asking you to, Charles," Logan stated plainly,   
  
unaffected by the hostile tone Charles had taken. "But you never   
  
finished grieving for him. You know I'm right."  
  
Charles turned back to the window, fighting back his own   
  
tears. "I can't. I don't know where to start. It just . . . seems so   
  
quiet with him gone."  
  
Instead of answering, Logan stood and went to the nightstand   
  
by the bed. Picking up a remote control, he aimed it at the   
  
television and turned it on to a news report. Curious, Charles   
  
turned to the reporter on the screen.  
  
". . . such a tragedy," the reporter was saying. "To recap   
  
tonight's top story, a plane carrying a family of four went down over   
  
Alaska tonight. The only survivor was a seven-year-old boy, who is   
  
currently being hospitalized for injuries sustained upon   
  
parachuting from the burning plane. Investigators are still   
  
searching for clues as to why the plane went down, and a search is   
  
being led to recover the bodies of the boy's family."  
  
Logan clicked the television off and tossed the remote onto   
  
Charles' bed. "Seems to me like that kid's going to be going through   
  
some major problems when the shock wears off. He's got no one else   
  
to turn to, and the orphanage isn't going to be much help."  
  
With that, Logan turned and left Charles to think about what   
  
he had just said.  
  
XXX  
  
Fairbanks, Alaska  
  
1 week later  
  
"I have to tell you, Mr. Xavier, this is highly unusual. We don't   
  
usually process adoption requests quite so quickly; especially for   
  
children who are such recent additions to our family."  
  
Charles smiled faintly at the orphanage director sitting at her   
  
desk across from him. "I heard about the young man's plight, and I   
  
believe I can provide him with the home he needs right now."  
  
The director glanced through the file before her one more   
  
time, then closed it and smiled. "Well, Mr. Xavier, everything seems   
  
to be in order. Shall I get him for you?"  
  
"Actually, could I go with you?" Charles asked. "I'd like to be   
  
the one to tell him."  
  
"Certainly." The director held the door open for Charles, then   
  
walked with him down the hallway. "There is something else you   
  
should know, though. You see, ever since the accident, he hasn't   
  
spoken."  
  
Charles looked up at her, not sure he heard her correctly.   
  
"Not spoken? Not at all?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," the director admitted. "The doctors assured   
  
me that it wasn't permanent. He suffered a terrible loss, and he's so   
  
young . . . they feel that, with time, he'll feel comfortable enough to   
  
speak again. Until that time, however, we'll have to patient with   
  
him."  
  
"Thank you for telling me," Charles said. "I'll have to make   
  
arrangements for his schoolwork."  
  
The director pushed another door open, this one revealing a   
  
small bedroom with bunkbeds and two desks. Sitting on a chair,   
  
knees hugged tightly to his chest, sat a small boy with brown hair.   
  
His hazel eyes stared sightlessly at the wall in front him.  
  
"Scott?" The director stepped forward and placed a gentle   
  
hand on the child's shoulder. "Scott, this is Mr. Xavier."  
  
Charles rolled forward, stopping in Scott's line of vision.   
  
"Hello, Scott. It's nice to meet you."  
  
Scott's eyes flickered ever so briefly, but it was enough. He   
  
knew he had the boy's attention.  
  
"Could you excuse us for a moment?" Charles asked of the   
  
director.  
  
She nodded and quietly excused herself from the room, closing   
  
the door tightly behind her.  
  
Charles looked deeply into Scott's eyes. "Scott, I know that   
  
you're hurting right now. Believe me, I know how you feel. I lost   
  
my son a long time ago. I . . . I miss him everyday. It was hard for   
  
me to go on without him, and I had no one to talk to or grieve with.   
  
I don't want you to go through that, too. I won't push you until   
  
you're ready to talk, but I want you to know that I will be there   
  
anytime you need me to be.   
  
"I pulled some strings, but they're going to let me adopt you,"   
  
Charles continued. "I'd like for you to come live with me in New   
  
York. It's a lot different than Alaska, but if you give it a chance, I'm   
  
sure you'll like it. Would you like to come home with me?"  
  
Scott stared at Charles for several long moments, but finally   
  
jerked his head up and down. Charles smiled.   
  
"Go ahead and pack your things," he said. "Take your time.   
  
I'll be in the hall. Once you're ready to go, let me know. I have some   
  
friends with me who would like to meet you."  
  
Charles gently squeezed Scott's shoulder and wheeled himself   
  
out of the room. The director was waiting for him just out in the   
  
hall, accompanied by Logan.  
  
"Well?" Logan prompted.  
  
Charles smiled, feeling as though some unknown weight was   
  
suddenly lifted. "He's packing."  
  
The director held out her hand to Charles. "Then this is   
  
where we part ways, Mr. Xavier. It was nice to meet you, and if you   
  
ever need anything, just call me."  
  
Charles shook her hand. "Thank you."  
  
The director had just disappeared back into her office when   
  
the door to Scott's room opened, revealing the boy toting a plain   
  
blue duffel bag. He barely reached Charles' shoulder standing up.   
  
He took a single step into the hall, then froze at the sight of Logan.   
  
Wide eyes lifted up, up, up to meet Logan's penetrating gaze.  
  
"Scott, this is one of the friends I told you about," Charles   
  
said. "This is Logan. Logan, this is Scott Summers. He's a little   
  
quiet, so don't mind if he doesn't answer you."  
  
Logan lifted an eyebrow, curious at Charles' words, but   
  
nodded at the boy. "Hiya, kid. Want me to carry that for ya?"  
  
He held out a beefy hand. Scott stared at it for a minute, then   
  
passed his bag over to Logan. Both of Logan's eyebrows shot up   
  
this time at the lack of weight in the bag, but he didn't comment.   
  
Shouldering the bag, he turned to Charles. "Shall we?"  
  
The trio walked in silence through the halls of the orphanage   
  
and into the parking lot. Charles and Scott climbed into the van,   
  
with Scott watching in undisguised awe at the platform that lifted   
  
Charles, wheelchair and all, into the vehicle. Logan let out a cough   
  
of amusement and climbed into the driver's seat after stowing   
  
Scott's bag into the back.  
  
The drive to the airport was quick. Charles glanced over at   
  
his newly adopted son and saw him shift, agitated, at the sight of   
  
the planes, and it hit him. He had no idea if Scott would even board   
  
his private jet for the return trip to New York. Especially with the   
  
accident too recent a memory.  
  
Logan guided the car through the airport and onto the strip   
  
where he had left the XR-77 blackbird that was a recent addition to   
  
Charles' possessions. Despite the fear rolling off of Scott in waves,   
  
the boy couldn't help but to stare in awe at the sight of the jet.  
  
A dark-skinned woman with blinding white hair waved to   
  
them from the wheels of the jet. She stepped aside as Logan drove   
  
the van up the ramp and onto the jet, and followed the vehicle on   
  
foot.  
  
Logan opened the door and started to exit the van when he   
  
noticed Scott in the rearview mirror. The boy was incredibly pale,   
  
his breaths coming in as short gasps. Realization struck, and he   
  
turned to Charles.  
  
"Maybe taking the jet wasn't such a great idea," he   
  
commented.  
  
"I have an idea," Charles assured him. He turned to Scott.   
  
"Scott, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Do you want to get to New York   
  
another way? Going by jet is the fastest, and Logan is an excellent   
  
pilot, but if you're uncomfortable, we can try something else."  
  
The woman opened Charles' door. "Is everything all right?"  
  
Charles ignored the question. "Are you okay to fly, Scott? I   
  
promise you, you'll be perfectly safe."  
  
Scott turned wide, frightened eyes onto Charles, but nodded   
  
his head. Charles smiled at Scott, then nodded at Logan.  
  
"Scott, this is my other friend," Charles said. "Ororo. Ororo,   
  
this is Scott Summers. He's agreed to come stay with us."  
  
"I'm very glad to hear that, Scott," Ororo said, stepping aside   
  
as Charles disembarked. "And I'm pleased to meet you. I think   
  
you'll like it in New York. Have you ever been there before?"  
  
Scott shook his head.  
  
"Scott, ah, doesn't talk," Charles told Ororo, in a tone too low   
  
for Scott to hear.   
  
Ororo nodded and smiled brightly at Scott. "Would you like   
  
something to eat, Scott? I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I   
  
would certainly like some company, though."  
  
Scott accepted the hand she offered and climbed out of the   
  
van. He allowed himself to be led away from the van and to an area   
  
of the jet Charles knew held more comfortable chairs and food.   
  
Satisfied that Scott was in good hands for the time being, Charles   
  
steered his chair to the cockpit.  
  
Logan was just powering up the engines when Charles   
  
arrived. "Quietest kid I think I ever saw," he commented to the   
  
older man.  
  
"The director said it was only temporary," Charles said. "I   
  
don't want to push him too hard. He'll talk when he's ready."  
  
"Didja get a load of the bag he had?" Logan asked him. "The   
  
thing was barely half full. Felt like a couple changes of clothes;   
  
where's the rest of his stuff?"  
  
"Most of it went down in the plane with his family," Charles   
  
told him. "They were moving their belongings. Besides; he didn't   
  
want to go back to his house. The social workers reported that he   
  
became entirely too agitated and refused anything from there that   
  
would remind him of what happened. I couldn't do anything about   
  
the house, but I had whatever was salvageable moved to a storage   
  
unit in New York and placed under Scott's name. When he's older-   
  
when he's ready- it'll be there for him."  
  
"Sounds like you thought of just about everything," Logan   
  
told him. "Except for one thing."  
  
Charles didn't even have to ask what that one thing was.   
  
"We'll tell him about that when he's older, too. No sense in turning   
  
his world upside down too much in too short a span of time."  
  
"He's bound to notice, Chuck," Logan warned him. "He'll be   
  
living at the mansion full time."  
  
"Then we'll have to be careful," Charles insisted. "He doesn't   
  
have to know now, Logan. But later . . . we'll see."  
  
XXX  
  
Getting Scott settled into his new life in New York went a lot   
  
more smoothly than Charles had anticipated. The boy seemed to   
  
walk around in constant amazement of his new home. Charles had   
  
given Scott his own room as well as an entirely new wardrobe.   
  
Though Scott didn't talk, the subtle longing on his face for   
  
something he would see in a store was like a neon sign to Charles,   
  
and he couldn't help but spoil the child. Ororo finally called him on   
  
it, telling him that while Scott was a good child now, too many   
  
riches would eventually turn him into a greedy one.  
  
Logan and Ororo helped to settle Scott into the mansion as   
  
well. Ororo became his tutor when it became clear that he could not   
  
function in a school setting without speaking. Scott didn't seem to   
  
mind. He appeared to enjoy the time he and Ororo spent pouring   
  
over math problems and creating science experiments in the   
  
kitchen.  
  
Logan decided to start training Scott in self-defense, claiming   
  
that it was never too early to learn how to fight. He knew Scott's   
  
confidence would build, and it presented an outlet for Scott's   
  
emotions if they ever became too overwhelming.  
  
Charles sat with Scott in the evenings, usually in the library.   
  
Charles made it a nightly ritual to read to Scott from various books   
  
in his vast collection, though he occasionally sat with Scott through   
  
movies of the boy's choice. Slowly, the adults could see the scars in   
  
Scott's pained eyes begin to heal.  
  
Still, they kept their word and never once pushed the child   
  
into speaking. They all knew that their progress was largely   
  
dependent on trust; trust that Scott and Scott alone would decided   
  
when he was ready to talk to them.  
  
Three months had passed in what seemed like no time at all.   
  
Charles finally felt at peace for the first time in a very long time as   
  
he heard Scott laugh at Ororo in the middle of his lessons. Logan   
  
walked up to him, and the two continued on down the hall so as not   
  
to disturb them.  
  
"I want to thank you, Logan," Charles said. "You were right.   
  
This is exactly what we both needed."  
  
"Don't mention it," Logan replied. "Hey, the runt's birthday is   
  
next week. What did you have planned?"  
  
Charles grinned slightly. "You know he hates it when you call   
  
him that."  
  
Logan smirked. "Well, if he hates it so much, then all he has to   
  
do is tell me to stop it."  
  
"I don't think you'd stop even then," Charles pointed out.   
  
"Getting back to the question at hand, I've been doing some   
  
thinking. He doesn't really know anybody, so it would probably be   
  
just the three of us. Do you have any insight as to what he'd like to   
  
do?"  
  
Logan grunted. "A crowd would overwhelm him. Keep it   
  
simple. Maybe take him to a ball game or something. Something   
  
normal. We'll have plenty of time for noisy parties and dozens of   
  
pipsqueaks running under our feet next year."  
  
"I look forward to it," Charles said, grinning openly.  
  
"You would," Logan shot back. "Hey, I'm taking off for a bit.   
  
See if I can't find something for Runt's birthday. I'm hoping I might   
  
get lucky and something'll just fall into my lap, though."  
  
"Good luck, old friend," Charles said.  
  
XXX  
  
It had been five months since Scott had come to live with   
  
Charles and his friends, and yet he still hadn't spoken a single word.   
  
Ororo was beginning to get worried that he would ever speak again,   
  
and Charles was beginning to have his own doubts. When he began   
  
to consider sending Scott to a psychiatrist, Logan stepped in.  
  
"Give it some time, Chuck," he said. "When he's ready, he'll   
  
talk. Listen, I gotta run an errand. You mind if I take Runt with   
  
me?"  
  
Ororo rolled her eyes. "For heaven sakes, Logan, have you   
  
ever called Scott by his given name?"  
  
"Where's the fun in that?" Logan responded.  
  
"Go ahead," Charles told him, stopping Ororo from snapping   
  
back.  
  
Logan found Scott in front of the television, mindlessly   
  
flipping through the channels without stopping to watch something.   
  
Logan stepped in front of Scott's view and folded his arms. "Hey,   
  
Runt. I'm going into town. Wanna come?"  
  
Scott turned the television off and leaped to his feet. Logan   
  
responded by seizing Scott around the waist, flipping him upside   
  
down, and carrying him out the door to the garage by his ankle.   
  
Scott's laughter filled the air, causing Logan to smile ever so faintly.  
  
After carefully strapping a helmet to Scott's head and belting   
  
him to the bike, Logan swung onto his motorcycle, kicked it into   
  
gear, and sped through the gate and onto the open road.  
  
Their first stop was a hardware store, where Logan had to   
  
pick up some more spark plugs for their van. Scott followed Logan   
  
around like an obedient little puppy, careful not to get lost or   
  
separated.  
  
After a quick stop at the post office, Logan and Scott stopped   
  
at an ice cream parlor. Logan bought them each an ice cream cone,   
  
and the two sat at a picnic table to eat. Scott had made it halfway   
  
through his cone when a woman's shrill voice broke their   
  
comfortable silence.  
  
"Alex! Time to go!"  
  
Scott's entire body went rigid, and before Logan could so   
  
much as blink, he dropped the rest of his cone and tore into the   
  
nearby park, where the woman's voice had been calling from.  
  
"Runt! Scott!" Logan shouted. "Get back here!"  
  
He took off after the boy, leaving his own ice cream cone on   
  
the ground beside Scott's.   
  
Scott raced down the path, hearing the woman call for Alex   
  
again. He skidded to a halt when he saw a small, redheaded boy   
  
being lifted into the arms of a portly woman with the same color   
  
hair. A cold wind blew through Scott; he felt tears rise to his eyes as   
  
the woman carried her son away. Suddenly overwhelmed with grief,   
  
Scott ran off the path and into a grove of trees, eyes darting wildly   
  
about. "Alex? ALEX! ALEX!"  
  
Logan paused when he lost sight of the distraught child. He   
  
sniffed the air, trying to catch Scott's scent, when he heard the   
  
unfamiliar voice of a young boy all but scream for someone. Veering   
  
sharply to his left, Logan trampled through the brush towards the   
  
sound of the voice.  
  
He skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over Scott. Scott was on   
  
his knees, letting out gut-wrenching sobs, all the while still calling   
  
for Alex.  
  
Logan knelt down beside Scott and lightly touched his   
  
shoulder. "Hey, Scott, what's the matter?"  
  
Scott turned his tear-streaked face towards Logan. "I c-can't   
  
find him!" he cried pitifully. "I w-was supposed to t-take c-care of   
  
him, b-but I can't find him!"   
  
"Who?" Logan asked.  
  
"Alex!" Scott howled. He threw himself at Logan, sobbing   
  
harshly into Logan's shoulder. Logan tensed up, not quite sure how   
  
to handle the situation. "Eh- Alex?"  
  
"M-My little b-brother!" Scott told him. "W-We . . . M-Mom   
  
and, and Dad made us jump out of the p-plane, b-but I lost him. I l-  
  
lost my brother, and now he . . . he . . ."  
  
He couldn't finish, his words swallowed up in more sobs. More   
  
than a little uncomfortable, Logan hefted Scott into his arms and   
  
began to carry him back to the motorcycle. He wanted to get the   
  
boy back to the mansion; Charles would know what to tell Scott.  
  
Strapping Scott in, Logan kick-started his bike and sped back   
  
to the mansion. By the time he had parked in the garage, Scott had   
  
fallen asleep. Gently scooping the boy up into his arms, Logan   
  
carried Scott into the house.  
  
Ororo met him just inside the front door. "Oh my God, what   
  
happened?" she asked when she saw the tears drying on Scott's face.   
  
Charles wheeled to the top of the stairs. "Bring him here,   
  
Logan."  
  
Logan obediently carried the slumbering child up the stairs   
  
and placed him carefully on Charles' lap. Charles turned and   
  
wheeled his chair to Scott's room, where he tucked the boy into bed   
  
and swept back an unruly lock of brown hair from Scott's forehead.  
  
"What happened?" Charles asked Logan quietly.  
  
In a soft, stunned tone, Logan related that afternoon's events   
  
to Charles and Ororo. They were both surprised to hear that he had   
  
spoken, but showed mixed feelings of relief and sorrow on their   
  
faces.  
  
"You did just fine, my friend," Charles assured Logan. "I'm   
  
glad you were there when it happened."  
  
"Yeah, well, if it's just the same to you, I wish it was someone   
  
else," Logan replied.  
  
"He should sleep until dinnertime," Charles decided. "Let's let   
  
him get some rest."  
  
They walked together out of Scott's room. Logan excused   
  
himself and disappeared down another hallway, leaving Charles   
  
and Ororo walking back the way they had come.  
  
"If he is talking, Charles, you know what this means?" Ororo   
  
asked.  
  
"I do," Charles agreed. "He's finally going to start to heal from   
  
this. It'll take some time, so we shouldn't rush him. I think he'll   
  
even be ready to start at the local school next month."  
  
Ororo smiled ruefully. "It's a shame. I was getting to like   
  
being a teacher."  
  
XXX  
  
One Month Later  
  
"Have a good day, Scott. We'll be waiting right here for you   
  
when school gets out, okay?"  
  
"Okay, Charles." Scott scooped up his backpack, opened the   
  
door, and jumped out. "By, Ororo. Will you help me with my   
  
homework tonight?"  
  
Ororo grinned at him from the driver's seat. "Of course, Scott.   
  
Now go, or you'll be late for your first day."  
  
Scott slammed the car door shut and ran up to the front steps   
  
of Bayville Elementary school, his backpack bouncing with each   
  
step. Charles and Ororo watched as another young boy, blonde with   
  
blue eyes, stumbled and scattered his belongings all over the   
  
ground. The other children laughed and pointed at him as they   
  
passed, but Scott knelt down and helped him to gather up his   
  
things.  
  
"Thanks," the blond boy said. "You're new here, aren't you?   
  
My name's Paul."  
  
"Scott," Scott replied, handing Paul his folders. "I'm in Mr.   
  
Williams' class."  
  
"Hey, me too!" Paul exclaimed. "Come on, I'll show you the   
  
way. We can sit together."  
  
Scott and Paul scrambled to their feet and ran into the school   
  
before the bell could ring. Ororo turned to Charles and smiled.  
  
"It looks like Scott's going to fit in just fine," she observed.  
  
"I never doubted it for a minute," Charles told her, his smile   
  
matching hers. "Let's go home, Ororo."  
  
The End  
  
_______________  
  
email: nkala99@hotmail.com 


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